


For the Widows in Paradise

by Menya_Savut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apologies, Camping, Complicated Relationships, Family, Family Dynamics, Gen, Invisibility Cloak, Mending Relationships, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Television, Time Travel, Time Turner, Travel, United States, Urban Fantasy, Vacation, Yellowstone National Park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menya_Savut/pseuds/Menya_Savut
Summary: Harry pesters Dudley into taking a week-long vacation with him, by way of Time Turner.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [StupidityNowOffersWisdom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidityNowOffersWisdom/pseuds/StupidityNowOffersWisdom) in the [HPprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HPprompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  With a Time Turner and more than enough time, the estranged cousins take a bit of time for themselves.

Harry is sitting at one of the patio tables.

Dudley Dursley is used to the dilapidated courtyard of Dogwood Prep being empty during lunch, and when he sees his cousin of all people, he nearly drops his tray. Harry sits at Dudley’s usual table, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and trainers, like any normal person. Dudley scours his person for his wand, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

"Dudley," Harry says, and Dudley doesn't know what the bloke expects. He makes his way over to Harry, weaving through tables and chairs. Soon enough, he's standing awkwardly in front of his cousin.

It feels ridiculous, but Dudley asks, "May I sit down?"

Harry gestures carelessly, and Dudley sets his tray down shakily. He takes a seat.

Finally, he asks, "What are you doing here?"

But Harry, insufferable as ever, answers with a question. "Why are you in school? Didn't you graduate?"

 _None of your business_ , Dudley thinks, but instead he says, "Had to do last year over."

Harry thankfully leaves it at that. Dudley stares down at his fish sticks and peas and has the disturbing urge to offer him some – Harry has no food and Dudley is hungry, always hungry, but he can't bring himself to eat if Harry is just staring at him.

"You didn't answer my question," Dudley says.

Harry again ignores him (Dudley wonders when he developed the cheek) and reaches under the collar of his shirt. He produces a necklace: golden concentric circles, and a miniature hourglass in the middle. Dudley tastes the bitter tang of magic on the roof of his mouth and has to stop himself from swallowing nervously.

“You know what this is?” _Of course not_ , Dudley thinks, but Harry moves on quickly. “It’s a Time Turner. It can take people back in time.”

Dudley stiffens, his mind immediately jumping to the idea of Harry going back in time to when he was a child and wreaking vengeance for all the times Dudley bullied him...

But Harry says, “Where do you wanna go?”

Dudley blinks. He can’t find his voice for a few moments. When he speaks, he says, “I don’t blummin’ know.”

Harry drops the pendant back under his shirt. “We could go back a week, go somewhere we’ve never been; no one would miss us. When the week’s over, we just Apparate back here and no harm done. So, where do you wanna go?”

Dudley hasn’t even agreed to this. For all he knows, Harry’s concocting a plan to kill him. “I have a test on Thursday...”

“Didn’t you hear me? I just said we wouldn’t lose any time. Come on. Where have you always wanted to go?”

His fish sticks are surely cold by now. “...The States. Out in the country.”

Harry looks past him for a moment, thinking hard, then stands up. “Okay.” He pushes in his chair unceremoniously and holds out his arm, as if Dudley is some bird Harry is leading into an evening ball.

Dudley scoffs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Take my arm.”

“I haven’t even eaten!”

“Take my arm, I said.”

Dudley grouses and stands, towering over Harry. He makes a show of pushing his chair in and fixing his school uniform, and then he reaches for Harry’s arm.

Harry uses his other hand to drop the necklace chain around Dudley’s head, and then spins the little hourglass in the middle...

 

When they land in Wyoming, Dudley vomits.

Harry pulls his wand from his back pocket to vanish the sick. Dudley flinches very slightly, but he forces his body into stoicism.

They’re in a sleepy little town, on a sidewalk lined with elm trees, old-fashioned shops, and park benches. The air is mild and sunlight filters through the trees. When Dudley steps out onto the street to look past the trees, he sees hazy blue mountains in the distance.

When he looks back for Harry, the other has already crossed the street. He stands in front of a bench, two suitcases at his feet.

“Here,” Harry says, handing Dudley his bag. “Come on.”

Dudley takes hold of his slightly warm suitcase and follows Harry down the street, past corner stores, a bank, coffee shops. Harry reaches a small motel and they walk into the lobby.

“Two double beds please, for a week,” Harry says.

Dudley momentarily panics, reaching to his back pocket to check if he brought his wallet, but Harry’s already set the money on the counter. Dudley stares, but Harry doesn’t pay any attention to him. When Dudley gets a look at the receipt, his heart rises up his throat; the date is from a week ago.

They ride the lift to the top floor and head down the hall to their room. It smells faintly of smoke and damp, and the blankets and armchairs have holes in them. Harry tosses his suitcase on one bed, and Dudley sets his down on the other. When he opens it, he finds his rucksack, several changes of clothes, his toothbrush, even the magazine he’d been perusing before bed the last couple of nights.

He pulls out a water bottle, sunglasses, a baseball cap, and tosses it all into the rucksack. Harry has his wand between his teeth and is packing his own bag as well.

They head back downstairs and onto the street; Harry takes them to a convenience store to stock up on supplies. They go back to the hotel to drop off their shopping, and Harry takes them to a diner for an early dinner. Dudley tucks into his beans and sausage ravenously.

There’s a little brochure rack in the motel lobby, and Harry takes out a map of Yellowstone National Park. He hands it to Dudley in the lift, and when they get back to the room, Harry announces, “I’m taking a shower,” and leaves Dudley alone in the room.

Dudley sighs to himself, puts his suitcase at the end of the bed, and spreads out the map. He fishes a pen out of his bag and chews on the end of it.

 

They’re staying in Cody, just east of the park. The next morning, they wake up at dawn, grab a quick breakfast in the lobby, and catch the bus to Yellowstone. Dudley is initially afraid that the hour-long ride will be awkward, but he finds himself unable to pull his eyes from the window; they drive along a cerulean-blue river, powdery-white cliffs, forests with the tallest trees he’s ever seen. Dudley glances at Harry every so often, but the other boy gazes out the window across the aisle, and Dudley says nothing.

The bus drops them off at the visitor center. There are a good handful of people milling around, but in the off season the crowds are smaller. Dudley pulls out his map, now covered in little pen-scribbles.

“Where to?” Harry asks.

Dudley squints down at his notes.

“Ribbon Lake.”

They hike a rough trail through the woods. The trees crowd close and birds sing as they pass. The wind picks up and dies down in short, strange bursts. Harry lets Dudley walk ahead of him.

They reach the lake and walk along its edge. The lake’s surface stands perfectly still; it reflects the trees and mountains surrounding them. Harry spreads out a blanket and they stop to eat the picnic lunch they’ve packed.

Dudley is just thinking that it’d be nice to go out on the lake when Harry pulls out his wand and two kayaks appear on the shore. Part of Dudley is unsettled, but the other part of him takes off his shoes and socks and rolls up the legs of his trouser. The pull the boats out into the water and paddle languidly toward the mountains. When it gets late, they row back to their abandoned picnic, pack up, and head through the forest to the bus stop. Dinner that night is at the diner again and even though it’s still early, Dudley crashes as soon as they get back into the hotel.

 

They see towering red rock, glittering streams, herds of meandering bison. They walk trails through the forest, hike up dizzying cliff faces, stand in the sprays of waterfalls. On the third day, they sit around Old Faithful, surrounded by elderly couples and young parents with children, waiting for the geyser to erupt. When it finally does, it sounds oddly muted, and what rings in Dudley’s ears is the chattering of the people around him.

They eat venison burgers for lunch at the nearby lodge, and in the afternoon they take the trail through the Upper Geyser Basin. They walk through barren flatlands, past bubbling pits of sulfuric mud, rainbow-ringed springs, dozens of small geysers that erupt every few seconds. The path is eerie; there is no one else on the boardwalk with them, and no railings on the wooden walkway. Dudley could easily step down from the boardwalk, into the burning hot, acidic pools of water. The only sign that another soul has been where he is now is the wooden walkway. Neither break the silence with conversation.

That night, Dudley comes into the room from his shower to find Harry propped up in his bed, flicking aimlessly through the channels. Dudley untucks the comforter from the bed so he can lie under it on his belly. He watches the channels change for a while.

“All of it’s rubbish; there’s no cable,” Dudley says.

“I know,” Harry says absentmindedly.

“Just pick something.”

Harry settles on an old Western. On screen, a rugged cowboy grips his horse’s reins in his teeth and aims his gun. A cloud of dust rises behind him from his horse’s hooves, and the camera cuts to the chase in profile; the group of bandits gallops away from the cowboy against a backdrop of the endless desert.

“This is boring,” Dudley says. “Aren’t you tired? You’ve been going to bed around ten.”

“It’s not boring,” Harry shrugs. “If you want to sleep, I can turn it off.”

Dudley grunts noncommittally, and they watch the movie until the end.

 

On the fifth night, Dudley is sorting through his dirty clothes when he tastes magic again. He turns around and sees Harry in a similar position as him, kneeling on the floor with various pieces of clothing scattered around. On his lap is a coppery velvet cloak, woven with an intricate pattern of vines and leaves.

“What’s that?” Dudley says sharply.

Harry looks up, startled; he seems to consider evading the question, but finally he answers, “It’s an Invisibility Cloak.”

At Dudley’s unchanged expression, Harry says, “Stand up.”

Harry walks over to the mirror hanging in front of the closet. Dudley stands beside him, Harry swings the cloak around Dudley’s shoulders. Dudley watches and feels clammy all over; his body has disappeared and only his head remains.

Harry laughs at his expression and pulls the cloak over Dudley’s head, so that he’s completely invisible.

“Used to lurk around Hogwarts all the time under it,” Harry says, and Dudley slips the cloak off. He runs the material through is fingers, feeling the warmth of the magic.

“Hogwarts – that was your school, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it like?”

When Harry doesn’t answer, Dudley looks up. Harry’s staring at him with an utterly unreadable expression on his face. He reaches for the cloak; Dudley lets him take it. Harry sits back down in the middle of his mess of clothes and carefully folds the Invisibility cloak.

“It was probably a lot like Muggle school,” Harry says. “Strict teachers, loads of homework, tests...”

“But what about the magic?”

Harry looks up at him again. “The magic was new, and interesting, and unbelievable.”

Harry’s tone is light, nearly emotionless. Dudley sits down carefully at the end of his bed.

“Why don’t you use magic now? I mean, you teleported us here and we went back in time, but other than the kayaks you haven’t done any magic since we got here.”

“There wasn’t much need for it, was there?”

“You could magic us food. Or fold clothes using magic.”

“Do you want me to spell your clothes folded?” Harry asks.

“No, I mean, I don’t mind either way – that’s not the point. I just don’t understand why you don’t use it all the time, especially since you’ve grown up.”

Harry doesn’t answer. After a moment, he shakes his head absentmindedly and tucks the cloak into his rucksack.

“Have you been carrying it around all this time?” Dudley says.

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Force of habit, I guess."

 

Dudley suggests they go camping on their penultimate night. Harry seems surprised by the idea, but he agrees. They pack what they need and hike out to a little campsite on the edge of Yellowstone’s canyon, overlooking the Lower Falls. Dudley really gets to see Harry’s magic then; Harry conjures up a tent, starts a fire, and prepares tilapia and vegetables for dinner, all using magic. Dudley feels a little useless, but Harry sets him to collecting firewood the normal way. They eat and watch the sunset, then crawl into the tent to sleep.

Dudley is woken up in the middle of the night by his cousin’s nightmare.

Harry is mumbling in his sleep, his face contorted in distress. He flings his head back and forth, and his voice cracks. Dudley can’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he catches “ _run_ ” and “ _stop_ ” and “ _no_ ”, and then he manages to shake Harry awake and the only sound is their labored breathing.

“Sorry,” Harry mutters hoarsely.

Dudley shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Harry crawls out of his sleeping bag and sits outside the tent, re-stokes the fire. Dudley pokes his head out to follow, but Harry says, “Go back to sleep.”

When Dudley wakes up a few hours later, Harry isn’t in the tent. He finds the burned out fire and Harry sitting at the edge of the canyon, gazing at the Lower Falls.

“It’s damn cold,” Dudley remarks. “Why didn’t you restart the fire?”

Harry smiles thinly and lifts up a glass jar that Dudley hadn’t noticed; inside is a little blue flame.

“I wanted to watch the sunrise,” he says, and it’s such a simple idea that Dudley doesn’t ask anything else. He sits down beside Harry, and the canyon’s shadows slowly fall away.

 

They spend the day hiking back to the bus stop. They get back to the hotel early in the afternoon, but neither has the energy to do much of anything. Harry takes a nap, and Dudley does too, but he wakes up a couple of hours later and goes out into the town to find some dinner.

He returns with Chinese takeout. Harry’s awake again, flipping through a book. Dudley glances at it and sees pictures of brooms, but he hands Harry his food and Harry puts the book away. Harry tosses the remote to Dudley, and they eat while watching _Leave it to Beaver_ reruns.

 

The next day is their last. They wake up early and check out of the hotel. They go to a cafe for breakfast.

Although the sun has risen, the sky is a little gray from the night. Harry and Dudley sit at a table outside with their eggs and bacon and potatoes.

Dudley butters a slice of toast. Even after he’s finished, he doesn’t put the knife down. He stares a hole through the bread.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry chokes on a cough. “Excuse me, what?”

Dudley takes a bite of his toast to calm his nerves, chews, swallows, then says again, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what do you think? For being an arse to you when we were kids.”

Harry looks at him as if he’s some strange creature he can’t comprehend. “It’s not your fault.”

“What are you talking about? Did I not beat you up and shove your head into the toilet, and kick you, and chase you, and—”

“Alright! I get it! I was the one getting punched and kicked, I’ll have you remember.”

“Then how the hell can it not be my fault?”

“What do you know about my mother?”

Again, a cryptic response from Harry. Dudley takes another bite of toast and shrugs.

“My mum was a witch, of course, and she got into Hogwarts. Your mother wasn’t, and when she found out about my mum, she was jealous.”

“Mum hates magic,” Dudley says automatically and Harry shakes his head.

“I think she didn’t, at first. She wanted to go to Hogwarts so badly that she wrote a letter to Professor Dumbledore – he was the headmaster – but when she couldn’t go, she became bitter.”

Harry takes a sip of his orange juice and studies Dudley. Dudley puts his toast down.

“Aunt Petunia ended up hating magic because she couldn’t have it. She hated me because of that, I think. And she and Uncle Vernon taught you to hate me, too.”

“So you think it was my parents’ faults?” Dudley said, his stomach churning.

“I think that a lot of people were put into situations they reacted badly to,” Harry says carefully. “I don’t know whose fault it is. I don’t know if it’s anyone’s fault. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

Dudley knits his eyebrows. Something is still burning inside him.

“Do you remember...a couple of years ago...we were walking home and everything got dark...”

“The Dementors?”

“What did they do to me?”

Harry sets down his silverware and leans his elbows on the table. “Dementors feed off of people’s happy feelings, so that the only thing a person has left is their worst experiences. A Dementor’s final blow is their kiss; they take your soul.”

“So I was feeling...horrible...”

Harry nodded. “You were experiencing your worst memories.”

Unbidden, the images come to Dudley’s mind; embarrassing himself in front of his mates, feeling ignored while his parents yelled at Harry, watching Harry fall as he punched him in the face...

“Why did you want to spend this week with me?” he asks.

Harry doesn’t say anything at first, and Dudley doesn’t think he’ll get an answer, but then Harry says, “I don’t know.”

Dudley furrows his brow. “You don’t know. You confront me without warning, persuade me to time travel with you, go to the States...and you don’t know why?”

Harry fiddles with the tablecloth. “I know I wanted to. I don’t know why I wanted to. I just...did it.”

Dudley shakes his head. “Mental.”

Harry laughs softly. “Yeah.”

“Well then? Is this gonna keep happening?”

Harry gazes at him with the most peculiar expression. “Do you want it to?”

“I don’t know,” Dudley says. “I don’t much like being suddenly dragged off to random times and places.”

“Where are you going after you graduate?”

Dudley shrugs. “I think Dad expects me to work at the drill company. I haven’t really thought about it.”

Harry’s mind seems to have drifted again, so Dudley says, “What are you doing right now?”

Harry’s eyes focus on him again. “Working for the Order.”

At Dudley’s blank expression, Harry grimaces. “Sorry. Order of the Phoenix. Organization to fight Dark Wizards.”

“Sounds insane,” Dudley says, when he can’t think of anything else to say.

“It is,” Harry agrees.

They’ve been at the café for nearly an hour and neither has finished their food. Regardless, Harry asks for the bill, and they pay and leave.

 

They arrive at Dogwood Prep ten minutes before lunch, in the woods at the edge of the school’s property. The trees are darker and more crowded together than in the States, and the air is cooler. Dudley holds his suitcase awkwardly, but Harry taps it with his wand and it disappears.

“In your dorm room,” Harry says, and Dudley nods.

The air is uncomfortable.

“Don’t go back to the courtyard until after twelve thirty,” Harry says, for the umpteenth time.

“I know,” Dudley says again. “You told me already.”

Harry nods jerkily. “Alright.” He clears his throat. “I’ll see you around.”

Dudley extends his arm for a handshake, and Harry takes it, startled.

“See you around,” Dudley says.

They drop their hands, and Harry picks up his suitcase. He nods once more to Dudley, and then he curls in on himself and disappears with a _crack!_

 

Dudley’s favorite white shirt has a muddy stain on it, and he’s scrubbed at it three times and it still won’t go away.

**Author's Note:**

> Please if you don't mind, if you have any suggestions for how I should tag this please tell me  
> creative writing problem #897: when u kno that past tense is teh safest bet but ur brain says NO liek a petulant child  
> The title of this story comes from “For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti”, a song by Sufjan Stevens which features some serious banjo.  
> I’ve been to Yellowstone, and I assure you that this story is full of inaccuracies, mostly concerning the accessibility of the park – Yellowstone is HUGE and you can’t just walk around aimlessly – you drive to where you want to go, and then you hike a bit, and then you hike back to your car and drive to another spot. So, just ignore the fact that these kids are wandering around on foot the whole time.  
> I hope you liked it!


End file.
